


Getaway Car

by yeyintingz



Category: 365 Fresh - Triple H (Music Video), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bisexual Disasters, Crime, F/M, Inspired by 365 Fresh (Music Video), M/M, Modern Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Modern Thedas, Multi, Murder, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Partners in Crime, Party, Polyamory, Possible smut, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-10-11 15:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeyintingz/pseuds/yeyintingz
Summary: Three criminals are on the run from authorities.Anders, a refugee doctor who committed a crime out of good will.Hawke, a hairdresser who accidentally murdered a reputable man to protect herself.Fenris, a runaway former assassin from an organized crime group in Tevinter.Inspired by Triple H's 365 Fresh MV, this trio of runaways goes on an unintentional road-trip for a great escapism.





	1. Nothing Good Starts with a Getaway Car

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Assault TW

Anders is always the man to be pursued. Even when he believed his days of selfish hedonism and trouble-making are over, a grin cracks on his face before it disappears in a second. It is 11 p.m when his feet are thumping on the dark alleys of Lowtown, passing graffiti walls, crooked housings and small shops with his duffel bag circling his shoulder and pounding his side. Adrenaline rush is pumping in his veins, and the evening wind is ripping against his blond hair.

There are a few worse fears and better pleasure in life than escaping incompetent cops. They are still far from arresting him soon. However, he won’t be surprised if they have been alerted of his sudden disappearance from the clinic. When he sees there is a gate to the parking lot of The Hanged Man in front of him, he slows down before he scampers for his hands to grasp the metal bars tight and try to yank it open to discover that it is securely locked. He has no other choice but to throw his bag over the gate, and lift his legs and press the sole of his right shoe, then the left one to climb. When he lands on the concrete ground, he notices there is a drunk man who can barely open his car.

Tonight might be luckier than his previous attempts of escaping authorities, he thought. He approaches the intoxicated person. Without any hesitation, he squeezes his shoulder to force him to face him and strikes his temple with his, knocking him out of his last, blurry, consciousness. Under the warm, street light, his fingers wipe away the blood flowing out from his forehead before he searches for his pockets and collects the key. It leaves bloody fingerprints on its cold, shiny surface. Looking at the fainted man again, catching a smell of heavy, cheap booze in his nose, apology extends to his hazel eyes.

After midnight, he has to be unseen in the city.

* * *

The hair salon is approaching closing time in half an hour before 10 p.m. Hawke is alone, sweeping to clean the remaining mess of hair on the floor. The neon lights are still shining and buzzing, which she can’t wait to shut to end the day and return to her apartment, which she shares with Carver, to rest. It has been more tiresome to manage the customers without Isabela around as Isabela is outside the city for some business she has to attend.

Isabela is the owner of the salon. Overlooking the sea due to her obsession with the view, the salt in the breeze she enjoys breathing, the place is neither large in size nor highly reputable but it is affordable enough for Lowtowners who seek to have their hair styled.

The walls are decorated with pirate’s hats, artificial tropical flowers, and colorful, parrot’s feathers that can be purchased in local thrift shops or bazaars, while red lighting is installed beneath the mirrors. At the corner, stands a small, fake palm tree with rope lights twisting around its body. Containers that resemble treasure boxes are where shampoos, conditions, hair treatments and styling utensils are placed.

Outside the door, there is a neon board of ‘The Pearl Salon’ with an image of a big breasted woman with a pearl in a shell in hand and a scissor around her finger. It is hanging from the ceiling along with an open/closed sign, which Hawke hasn’t flipped to ‘closed’.

After Hawke has poured the hair into the trash bag for disposal and placed the cleaning tools by the restroom’s door, she hears the door creaked open. A breath of burden is exhaled through her nose in annoyance and stress as there is nothing more exhausting than a customer who arrives during closing time. She has been overwhelmed enough being the only staff under Isabela. Maker’s breath, she is not serving anyone this time.

“We are closing.”

When she turns to face whoever entered, she freezes at the spot a little. It is the son of the city’s judge, Christian who has been the salon’s customer for a while.

“Hello, sweetheart.” he greets.

A smirk appears on his smug face, while his finger is twirling with his hair. Drawing closer toward her for a peck on her cheek but she strides backward, her palms to push him if he invades her space further.

“What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t need the answer, the answer is clear.

“What does a gentleman do when they visit a salon?” he forces a chuckle as he takes off his suit, drapes it around the seat and seats himself comfortably.

Hawke does not respond. Her frown only deepens.

Strip his money and fancy, business attire, this bastard is no gentleman, she thought.

“I have an important meeting tomorrow, and I need to look as gorgeous as possible.”

“You know my usual style.”

There is a great temptation for her to hiss at him but she has to be as civil as she could toward the son of an important man in the city, or she can risk the ratings of her workplace, which she is more concerned about than Isabela does. Fate is not always kind to her, and tonight is a proof that the Maker has continuously refused to be by her side.

The first time she encountered this man, it was three months ago when he was brought along by a friend of his. Hawke was a newly hired staff in The Pearl Salon as the previous one left. She caught his eyes, and he has been infatuated ever since. It began with simple flirtation, which gradually became uncomfortable, verbal advances that Isabela once kicked him out with a horrible, unfinished haircut.

With Isabela’s brief absence, he is using this chance to be around her. What a sick opportunist.

“I’m sorry but—”

“I’m offering you higher tip than the usual. Are you going to say no?”

That, she can’t argue against. Being a refugee from Ferelden who fled from a massive catastrophe with her brother to Kirkwall, is a struggle. Bethany didn’t make it which both siblings are still mourning over. Ever since, they have been struggling for a year as they have lost many, especially their home in Lothering, and are never wealthy enough to begin with to gain financial security in a new city. While Ferelden is in the process of reparation, there is zero way they can return.

They were relying on their uncle, Gamlen, to live under his roof of an old apartment in Lowtown until his sudden death by alcohol poisoning in The Blooming Rose, which forces them to pay all the bills and rent. Fortune was by her side when Isabela decided to hire her but Carver is not as fortunate, he has been drifting between jobs.

“Alright, I’ll give you a haircut.” She accepts begrudgingly.

How much worse can this be?

She leads him to the hair washing station to clean his hair before she begins cutting. Impatience is drumming within her hands, rushing her to be quick. To give him her best is never her interest, only his cash matters to her.

While she is finishing the cut to proceed drying his hair, Christian’s hand slips between the gap of her legs and presses its fingers into her thigh. Startled, Hawke backs away, drops her scissor on the floor.

“Hey!” she yells.

A sinister smile is curved on his lips, he rises from the seat with his hair not done, stepping toward her, and desires to restrain her against that wall behind her, consuming her all for himself there. She rushes to retrieve her scissor. Taking a tiny step behind toward the cashier, Hawke is shaking in fear and rage, her arms tense, pointing the sharpest edge of her scissor at him as a threat. The hammering of her heartbeat is loud as if her heart is banging on the door of her chest for a way out. Her eyes are on fire, she swears to herself he is not going to touch her.

“Back off.”

“What are you going to do? Cut me with that dangerous thing and report to the police? I’m the judge’s son, remember, hm?”

“You’re a despicable man.”

“And there’s nothing you can do, sweetheart.”

He forcefully charges toward her, pinning her against the mirror on the dressing table. Panic almost washes over her mind when her back is slammed, a yelp escapes her mouth. It is a pure luck that the mirror doesn’t shatter into pieces that can slice her skin in the most horrendous fashion.

When his fingers begin lifting up her skirt, her hand quavering along with her entire body and tears filling her eyes, she sinks the scissor into his chest like lightning. A groan of pain, his eyes are widened in shock.

"Bitch." 

Without hesitation, she shoves him away from her body, his head accidentally hits the side of another dressing table, then his body crashes the floor.

The realization of what she has done paralyzes her in horror when she stands on her feet. There is blood staining the floor, flowing out from his head. It doesn’t make her relieved. She can be charged for assault, possibly homicide, and locked in prison for bartering the life of the son of the city’s judge for self-defense.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

_Maker, no!_

* * *

11.30 p.m is the time that is displayed on the car’s digital watch. Although, Anders thinks that it might be set 10 minutes sooner because the long arm of the watch around his wrist points at 4. He sighs as he has to stop due to the red light. The streets at night are quiet with a few passersby, some are drunk, making his path rather clear as long as there is no cop chasing after him or stopping him in case, he unintentionally drives over the speed limit.

When the light has turned green, Anders releases the brake and presses on the gas pedal. He is impatient, wanting to be out of the city as soon as possible.

After a few turns to encounter signs that he is close to heading out of the city, there is a woman who runs on the street, seemingly without paying attention to her surroundings. Anders has to step on the break in a sudden, almost crashes her. She’s a few inches in front of his stolen car – her ocean blue eyes wide and shocked.

Hawke makes an eye contact with him through the windshield without any intention to.

_Great, as if my life can get any better_.

“Why are you crossing the street without paying any attention? Are you mad?” asks Anders as he steps out of his driver seat and slams the car’s door behind him.

“You almost got me into more trouble. I’ve had enough trouble on my own.”

“I- I apologize.” Her face down avoiding his piercing gaze.

Anders pauses as he notices that she seems scared, nervous. She has been shivering in cold and fear, making him want to wrap her with his jacket. His eyes drift from her head to the dried crimson red on her hands, then her top and skirt. His expression softens.

“What are you running from?”

She shakes her head in refusal to share her story, but then, she realizes she can’t keep running and stay in this city. She can’t run back to her apartment, involving Carver in this. She needs an alibi, a getaway car from an accidental murder she committed.

“There is a man who has been stalking me for a while. He… attempted to assault me. I fought back. Now, I’m running from him.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” she pleads.

A pause.

Anders is thinking whether it is wise to invite her with him. Shadow of doubts casts over his thoughts, fearful that she might turn in him if she ever discovers the reason why he is exiting Kirkwall.

However, on the other hand, there is nothing more exciting than a beautiful, little trouble by his side in his journey. He admits he misses his younger years of hedonistic selfishness when he was surrounded by parties, drinks and pretty women, enthralled with the possibilities of once they are out there.

If there is any similarity to bond over, both of them are running away from something.

“Get in my car.” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic in Dragon Age fandom. I'm sorry if there are mistakes because I'm not a native English speaker. Feel free to comment! 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @LONE_wee !
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. You Never Can Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Hawke prepare for their next journey and encounter someone in their way.

Four missed calls from Carver.

The time display constantly changes as minutes pass, entering two in the morning. Clutching her fingers onto the cloth of Anders’ denim jacket, Hawke has been sleeping since their previous stop at a gas station, leaning her head and shoulder on the window next to her. She doesn’t realize that her phone was buzzing for a few times half an hour ago, and Anders chose to not wake her.

Anders keeps his sight on the road with a warm, plastic cup of coffee he bought from a mini-market in the cup holder and electronic music playing softly on after-midnight radio. There is a heavy strain of exhaustion between his eyes, struggling to maintain his focus. Soreness is tightening in his arms and shoulders, extending to his neck. According to the map, they are soon arriving in a nearby motel named ‘Pink Motel’, taking one more turn to the left and driving straight until the sign is seen.

Hawke flicks her eyes open, sensing that their arrival is near. She straightens her posture and adjusts the seat. Then, she glances at Anders, who is far more exhausted than she is, before her eyes watch the surroundings attentively which delivers her a sense of calm with slight melancholy. She has started missing her apartment, its warmth and familiarity even when the kitchen can be a mess, and the bedrooms can be dusty. 

The neon board of the motel’s sign – its name with two pink flamingos with their beaks in contact, forming a heart sign – is coming into view, enlarging as the distance between their car and the building closes until it is passed for entry to the parking lot. There are only a few cars staying the parking space, making it easier for Anders to find a spot with the help of street lights. Their car is parked in front of the room next to the small reception counter, where the light is still on. 

When the engine is switched to rest for the night, both Anders and Hawke step out of their car to grab their bags from the passengers’ seat, then slam shut the doors before Anders locks them with the key. Hawke gazes at their surroundings, noticing that the outer walls and the stairs are all painted in pink. 

They head toward the reception, where the receptionist is nowhere to be seen that it takes Anders to ring the silver bell on the counter for several times. When the receptionist appears from his room, they waste no time in hiring a room for one night, handing out their ID from their wallet as asked.

“What kind of room do you want?” asks the receptionist.

“One with two twin-sized beds if it’s available, I hope.”

Upon hearing that, Hawke’s lips twitch. Here’s hoping that she doesn’t have to share a bed with a man, especially after what happened to her hours ago that still sends shivers of dread down her spine but beggars can’t be choosers if the Maker refuses to be by her side again. Her exhaustion won’t allow her to protest as well.

“The price of the room for one night is one sovereign.”

When she searches for her wallet in her bag, Anders has given the paper cash first from his pocket. She glares in objection, and he immediately acknowledges her discomfort.

“You could pay me half later. I believe we need a rest first.”

A key is handed to him through the counter’s hole.

“Here’s the key. Room 204, upstairs.”

* * *

The bathroom fortunately provides the guests with toiletries because Hawke went unprepared. She didn’t bring anything except for her wallet, her make-up bag, hairbrush, portable charger, charging cable, apartment’s key and one spare t-shirt.

The earliest things she did when she and Anders arrived in their room were dumping her bag on her bed, charging her phone and bringing her t-shirt, her make-up bag and hairbrush to the bathroom. 

As she is washing her face, getting rid of any make-up from her face after brushing her teeth, she stares at her own reflection on the mirror. Dark ink from ruined mascara surrounds her eyes, streaming down her freckled face as if she has been through intense emotional turmoil. As if she has been crying for hours even when her whole face is wet by water from the tab, and she doesn’t have pink eyes from tears. 

It is not entirely wrong that what she is overwhelmed by the sudden, forced novelty she is facing right now. She must have been cursed by the Maker ever since the destruction of Lothering. Looking at herself, her face not fully clean and hair a mess, she is soaked with growing regret that she might have made such a reckless decision, being out of town and far from Carver to join a complete stranger who almost crashed her with his car. 

What’s the worst that can happen to her next?

She feels like drowning her face into the water in the sink. 

After cleaning up her face, she lifts up her t-shirt over her head, revealing her black bra, and places it on the closed toilet lid. Then, she pulls down her skirt, trying to wash away the blood stains with water and hand soap but it can’t be entirely removed. She sighs. She hangs it, hoping it is dry tomorrow by the summer heat before she puts on her spare shirt which she notices to be oversized. She has had her one of her tees mixed up with Carver’s in the laundry. At least, the size is able to almost reach her knees like a dress, covering her butt.

When she has exited the bathroom, she sees Anders at the balcony, staring into blankness in front of him. She wants to tell him that he can use the bathroom now but he seems to be comfortable in the silence of the dusk.

Her eyes are trailing on his blond head that reminds her of the wheatfield in Lothering. She is wondering what is inside his head, what his intentions are to exit Kirkwall that late while agreeing to take her with him when she first met him on the street. She yearns to raise questions but at the same time, she is aware that she doesn’t have any energy left yet, so doesn’t he.

Anders eventually realizes that she is out of the bathroom when he turns his body.

“The bathroom is unoccupied now. You’re free to use it.” she says.

“Thank you, Hawke.”

She is confused to why he thanked her.

He draws closer toward her.

“You need to rest now. I can see you must be very tired.”

“I’m sorry to hear what happened to you before we met.” His expression is caring and apologetic before it becomes slightly angry, his eyebrows furrowed.

“That bastard deserves a restraining order if you ever return to Kirkwall.”

“No need. In fact, I have to thank you for everything.”

“You must be very tired yourself driving for hours with a very few stops. I’ll leave you to clean yourself.”

“I’m off to bed now.”

“Alright, I hope you have a good rest. We’ll rise at nine tomorrow.”

Then, he enters the bathroom, closing the door shut while she lies herself on the bed, tugging her body beneath the sheet and checking her phone.

Missed calls from Carver. Panicked voice mails and messages. 

_ Sister, where are you? This is already very late, and you’re not here yet. Maker’s breath, if I don’t hear from you or you don’t show up tomorrow, I will search for you and drag you home. And you know I hate to do that. _

_ Come back, ASAP. _

She locks her phone, placing it on the table, and pulls down the switch to turn off the bedside lamp. She promises that she will text Carver tomorrow morning.

Her temple is pressed against the hard pillow with her eyelids closed, calling it a day before diving into a slumber.

* * *

The sunlight drapes over Hawke’s face through the windows when the sun has risen in the morning. Its blinding brightness awakens her that she has to roll her body to the left, seeing that Anders is not on his bed anymore. She can hear the shower dripping from the bathroom, which means he’s there.

When she checks her phone, it is shown that the time is 9.15 a.m. She remembers that she needs to reply to Carver before he takes matters directly into his hands.

_ Isabela suddenly asked me to go out of the city for some days that I had to stay in her place last night to pack. We’re already in the car now. _

She wonders whether Carver will accept her explanation after she has sent the message. If he does, he will in begrudging manner.

The reality is far stranger place. Her current situation tastes like a dream, and she’s living in it. If nothing ever happened, she would have been dusting, sweeping and mopping the floor, and preparing hair styling tools – another day of work by her own until night-time until Isabela returns. 

As she hears the bathroom’s door creak open, she slips her legs out of the sheet, noticing how the temperature immediately drops outside. That’s all due to her neither wearing nor having any pants. Self-consciousness brushes her movement when she lands her feet on the floor, hoping that she won’t expose too much of her skin to a person she barely knows.

“You’re awake.”

Hawke turns her face to see Anders in a white shirt and a pair of blue jeans, reaching for his duffel bag to shove his used clothing inside.

“How was your sleep?” he asks.

“It couldn’t be any deeper.” she jokes.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, you can simply ask. I’m willing to help anyone in trouble.”

“You’re too kind, Anders.” she replies.

“I receive that a lot.”

For a brief while, a small smile curls both of their lips.

“Anyway, I have to shower now.”

Then, she rises from the bed and heads toward the bathroom, passing him and shutting the door behind her. 

* * *

More than an hour later, Anders and Hawke enter a small town that is located by the border gate to vastness of Free Marches outside Kirkwall. Unlike Kirkwall that has been a city-state for a millennium old, this place has merely been standing for three decades, built for purposes of tourism – those who seek to prepare for an exploration of the nature spots, from hikers’ favourite Sundermount where the Dalish clan lives, to the Wounded Coast, the centre of lively and bold coastal activities and nightlife.

While it is not the taste of the majority, many explorers are also intrigued by The Bone Pit, the mysterious, bone-chilling mine where it is rumoured where dragons used to reside in millennia ago, according to the findings of archaeologists and historians. Then, there is the dreaded Deep Roads, which a few men dare to brave for its ancient dwarven history and the possibility of valuable treasures – an instant wealth if they succeed based on some old sayings. Even when the death toll amongst the expeditors is high, it never stops the bravest or the greedy hearts from exploring.

Both man and woman decide to have a break and supply themselves for their next, long, restless journey. Anders chooses to park their car in the parking lot of a diner to have lunch there. 

As they’ve entered the building, they’re welcomed by a waitress who leads them to an empty table by the window. The sofas they sit on are in thick, turquoise and cream stripes, while the others they don’t occupy, placed on the middle of the chess-tiled floor, are red. Silly neon tags of popular, cheap brands, and comic posters of B-movies and advertisements of tourist spots are hanging on the walls. At the corner, a jukebox is blaring a rock-n-roll music like the one Hawke’s parents liked to play when she was a child.

They don’t spend long to state their orders. Hawke calls for a plate of cheeseburger with fries and a vanilla milkshake, while Anders wants a burrito with a cup of hot black coffee. 

Once the waitress has left, Anders fills in their waiting time with a question he has always meant to ask.

“So tell me about yourself.”

“About myself? My, I don’t think you could find anything particularly interesting.” 

“That’s an absolute lie.”

He smiles, which she quite finds to be charming that she can’t refuse.

“Alright. Well, I’m not a Kirkwall native.”

“Not a Kirkwall native? Do you mean that you could be a refugee?”

“Yes, I am. In fact, I’m a Ferelden. I used to live in Lothering until… that happened…”

Her voice trails off with her head down, her eyes on her fingers on the table. It sparks nightmarish memories of when she lost Bethany to a collapsing wall. Those images and twisting guilt never cease to haunt her.

“I’m a refugee as well, escaping that blighted catastrophe. I took a ship to the Free Marches. Ever since, I’ve been working in a clinic to serve fellow refugees who can’t afford medications in Darktown.”

“Poor those people, how could people allow anyone to live under such conditions?”

There is pleading anger in his words. Hawke can’t blame him. Nobody ever chooses to be driven away from their homes by a catastrophe to live in an underground slum that is infested by a street criminal group called The Carta, resulting in the area suffering under the highest crime rate in Kirkwall that the majority of the police have ‘given up’ dealing with them.

“I’m aware there are many refugees less fortunate than I am. I wish I’m able to be more of a help. However, even myself is struggling to pay my dues.”

“You could always visit Darktown if you like to help. Maybe, you could help others in the clinic.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it once I return to Kirkwall.”

“You have a good heart to ever consider helping. Most people don’t even bat an eye.”

“I believe there are others who are considering as well. I’m not the only one.”

The waitress arrives with a tray of a cup of coffee and a vanilla milkshake that is rich of whipping cream with a red cherry on top, placing them on the table. Hawke draws her drink closer toward her, stirring it and sucking through her straw, tasting froth of the plain sweet milkshake on her tongue.

Anders, having a sip of his coffee, looks at the view of shops across the street through the window. He sees how the sky above is clear and blue where the sun is high before his gaze returns to the woman in front of him, trailing on her face that is framed by ebony, long hair while drinking his coffee. Freckles dust around her nose and cheeks that resemble a starry night he once watched alone in Ferelden. 

There is comfort in knowing that a person he just met last night, brought along unplanned, and will be with him throughout their journey is more familiar than he thought.

* * *

After lunch, they decide to visit the thrift shop across the diner.

It’s where Hawke is purchasing some clothing for their next trip with Anders accompanying and holding her bag when she tries some of her picks. She has picked a red varsity jacket that is thick enough to warm her when the air turns cold, lightweight tops including t-shirts and tank tops, and some pairs of bottoms such as long, cotton pants, jeans and shorts. Besides them, she has also grabbed some undergarments.

When she is positive that she is done with all of her selections and ready to pay, she slips out from the changing curtain, wearing her previous clothes with a bunch of her choices in her arms to have her eyes captured by a mustard yellow, frilly sundress with floral motive, hanging at the front of the rack opposite her. Her hand almost touches due to its cuteness but she is cautious of her spending, and Anders has been waiting quite long enough that she backs from it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try it?” asks Anders.

“I’m… pretty sure. I prefer to be careful with my money.” she replies.

“Or maybe, I don’t.” After a second thought.

She takes the dress and slips behind the curtain again to try the last piece of clothing she swears she will be interested in for the day. As she has put it on, she gazes at her reflection on the mirror. The dress hangs on her shoulders, revealing her freckled neckline and slight cleavage. While it makes her feel a little self-conscious, it doesn’t look bad.

Stepping out of the changing place, Anders’ hazel eyes widen by the sight of her in that dress, all in delight.

“What do you think?”

"Oh. Uh. That...”

“You look like a… beauty. No, you are a beauty.”

None of his words are lies.

She is indeed stunning.

“Thank you. That’s such a kind compliment.”

“I’ll change again. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

After she has changed and paid for her clothes, they head to the minimarket by the gas station to stock the backseat of their car with snacks, drinks and other things that are relevant for their journey.

Lastly, Anders fills the car with gas. When he has finished and seated himself on the driver’s seat, Hawke asks about their next destination in the Free Marches.

“Where are we heading next?”

“I’m thinking that we could go to the coast but if you wish to head somewhere else, I can bring you there.”

“No, no, I don’t have anywhere else in mind. I’ll just follow where you go.” She shakes her head.

“Alright then. Consider it a holiday. Venues, parties by the beach. It won’t be horrible, I can assure you.”

“I just never thought that I would be going on this trip with a beautiful woman, such as you.” 

A flirtatious grin on his face.

“Oh, sweet talker you are.” she chuckles.

A holiday, he said. 

Or a getaway disguised as one, she thinks.

Both of them know which one is true.

* * *

Approaching sunset, four hours through the journey, it has been a long road with some tolls to pay and some smaller towns to pass. According to Anders’ estimation, if there is no any obstacle, they might arrive in the closest town to The Wounded Coast by night time with a stop for dinner.

After a meal in an unnamed town at 7 p.m in a restaurant, they are searching for a gas station to charge their car with fuel. However, both of them encounter an unexpected when there is a person appear in a lightning swiftness as Anders drives on the street, almost crashing them if it isn’t for the instant, jarring brake that jolts and shakes both of him and Hawke. They question whether they have crashed someone by accident because they don’t see the where being of the shadowy figure through the windshield. It is as if they might have bumped into a shadow that just disappears.

Staring down her lap, Hawke hopes that there is no-one because she could still feel the slippery thickness of blood on her hands from yesterday. While that bastard deserved to die for what he did, she can’t fully shake off the sensation of the murder.

The memory is still fresh in her mind. The panic uprising when she impaled his chest with a scissor and pushed his head against the table. The dread when she was forced to remove all the evidence. Dragging his fresh corpse into a large trash bag, mopping the blood spilled on the floor and cleaning up the rest.

Maker, she feels sinful deep into the marrow of her bones.

“Wait here.”

Anders slams the car behind him to check who’s there to see a man on his knees. His right hand is grabbing tight his left abdomen, while there is a bag circling his left right shoulder.

“Are you mad? You almost got us into trouble because you have a death wish!” Anders yells and grips the man’s collar forcefully that makes his hood slip off, revealing his white hair, and his bag drop on the street.

Hawke pushes out of the car to prevent worse fight between two men against Anders’ order.

“Please, Anders, don’t do this.”

The man acknowledges her presence by turning his head. His pair of green eyes impales into her ocean ones, a stare that admittedly intimidates her. There is dark intensity in the way he peers at her as if she could sink into the deepest hole, the longer she stares back at him. 

Thankfully, he faces Anders again.

“I suggest you let me go to not upset your friend here.”

Anders loosens his grip and releases him. Now, the man is standing on his feet as he groans from his chest but he seems to be struggling to keep his balance. His whole body is shivering, while he is putting heavy effort to regain his breath, panting hard.

“Don’t ever come across us again.” warns Anders.

When Hawke sweeps her eyes on the man, she notices there is blood on his hand. For one second, she is in disbelief of her own eyes but the crimson red is real.

“There is blood on your hand.”

“Yes… there is…” he shoots back.

His hand shakily reaches for his left abdomen, where there is a wet, pool of blood, drenching the black cloth of his hoodie.

“You’re wounded.” voices Hawke, realizing that he has been bleeding much to her horror.

“I… don’t need your—”

He staggers backward, his knees weakened as his sight is turning blurrier. He is fighting against faintness by breathing even harder and tensing his legs’ muscles but he is losing his consciousness because of the pain and blood loss.

“Concern.”

Then, he collapses into blackness with his temple almost striking the concrete ground but this time, Hawke rushes to catch him.

_ No, no, no. _

“Anders, we have to get him into our car. We have to help him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy and like this chapter! Feel free to leave kudos and comment as they are highly appreciated!
> 
> Find me on Twitter @wwahav14 if you like to contact me!
> 
> XOXO!


	3. Doin’ Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Anders and Hawke agree to settle in a place for Fenris to recover, problems related to Christian's mysterious murder begin to arise.

Two nights after Christian’s disappearance, Inspector Cullen Rutherford receives a report to head to the area near the sea in Lowtown. He is rushing through the rainy weather and the business of the evening’s streets in a police car with sirens blaring from the station along with other officers below him. His furrowed eyebrows of anticipation can be seen on the slight reflection of his drenched car’s window. Besides his crew, paramedics have also been called to the location.

The time when all of them have arrived, they approach a large, wet, trash bag that is carried by the medics to be closer toward them. It was discovered by some rebellious, young Lowtowners while they were diving into the water, going against the rules of the area. Cullen glares at them but doesn’t say anything before he strides, passing them.

The slightly torn, bag made of plastic is being slid down by gloved hands, revealing the corpse’s head. His hair is sticky from the saltwater with their skin lifelessly pale. Then, a stab wound that is shaped like a capsule can be seen on his chest as his whole body is being uncovered to the toes.

Much to Cullen’s horror, he recognizes the face as Christian, the city judge’s son, an important man who he has met several times.

“Maker…”

“How long has been there?”

He demands an answer.

* * *

Hawke has sitting on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, pressing them on her chest while watching the raindrops falling on the window. It has been two hours since Anders cleaned, sewed Fenris’ wound shut and wrapped a bandage around his abdomen.

According to Anders, the wounds were from a knife’s slash and stab that thankfully failed to reach deep into his ribs but it successfully caused enough blood loss. With half of his body lying naked on the bed next to hers, black and blue bruises beneath the skin of his torso and limbs are bare to the eyes.

Anders needs to cook some medicine roots for him once he gains consciousness. He has been out, searching for a shop where he can purchase them. Hawke is left alone with the injured stranger they almost crashed on the street, waiting for his return. She should have tried to rest, following Anders’ advice but she can’t.

While she is more relieved with Fenris’ breathing gaining back its stability, now, anxiety was pumping her heartbeat a while ago. Her shaky hand, pressing a watered cloth on Fenris’ wound with his head on her lap in the car. Next to her was Fenris' heavy bag that she hasn't dared to touch or open even until now while Anders was rushing to find a motel or an inn at a speed that could make it drop on her feet. She was shaking in fear that he might not have made it. The dread that comes from failure in saving a life.

Some steps away from her, she can hear the noise of a key unlocking the door as Anders finally returns with a bag of herbs. He seems to be delighted when he notices that she hasn’t slept yet.

“You’re not asleep yet.” He says, placing the bag on the desk.

“I just… can’t fall asleep, especially after what happened.” She replies.

“Would you be comfortable to talk about it?” he asks.

“I’m… Alright. I’m just wondering…”

“You’re a doctor. Have you ever had someone’s life depending on you?”

“Is this about the man we just saved?” he asks.

“No, not really. I’m simply asking in general but perish the thought if you feel uncomfortable to answer.” She shakes her head, then drops her eyes on her lap in silence.

“I would say that I’ve got a lot of those cases but they still make me… anxious.”

He slowly approaches her and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Having someone’s life depending on you is never easy. It is hard. Sometimes, you might think that you have grown able to handle it but… some things never truly change.”

“Is that understandable?” he asks.

“Yes, it is. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

"I’m always willing to answer the questions of a beautiful woman.”

He smiles at her.

_Flirt_.

Little does she notice; his hand has been moving closer and closer to hers, yearning for a touch. He would like to brush the rough tip of his fingers on the smooth back of her hand. For a stroke of her skin. For a subtle, physical contact he has been deprived of for a long time.

However, he pulls back when she gives him another question.

“What about the man we rescued?”

“Oh, I assure you he’s going to be alright. He’s going to wake up soon, and when he does, you don’t have to worry any longer.”

“Is this the truth, or is this to make me worry less?”

A pause.

“Both. I’m not lying to you, Hawke. I promise that.”

* * *

When Hawke has fallen asleep, it still seems impossible for Anders to close his eyes. The sofa is hard, and it creates discomfort for his spine. He has been observing the ceiling while occasionally stealing glances at the woman on the bed.

Flashes of her in that yellow, sundress appear in his head. He marvels at her beauty that stunned him when she stepped out of the changing room. The freckles on her light brown skin were more visible like stars from face to chest. If it weren’t for the delight of her sight, he would have had more time in taking her in his admiration. He can’t decide whether he is cursed or blessed when the Maker destined for them to meet in the middle of the street—within such an odd situation.

He can’t afford this. Not toward her. He can’t drag her into this. The idea of them having sort of a vacation might be fun but the reality is rotten. And she’s a good woman. To be reminded that it might not be only them any longer in the run… he’s not sure how to feel about that.

_You’re too easily attached, Anders. You just met her a day ago. _

Shutting his eyes, he fights against his thoughts, making all of them disappear. He focuses on his breath to calm himself down. As he’s swallowed by sleep, he sees a flash of memories. His clinic in Darktown where the light often dies.

And one injured teenage girl pleading on the bed.

“Anders, I need your help. Please… The cops are on me…”

Everything that has led him to his present situation.

* * *

In the morning, awakened by the sun and little noises, Hawke opens her eyes to see that Anders is not on the sofa anymore. When she turns, she sees that Anders is nowhere in the room, wondering whether he is out. No sound of dripping water from the bath is heard. The man they saved doesn’t seem to be awake yet either.

She rises to check the bathroom to find the door unlocked and the room empty. Zero sign of Anders. When she closes the door, a low, baritone voice speaks behind her.

“I suppose I owe you and your friend my life.”

“You’re awake.” She turns to see him. He is in pain, forcing himself to not lay his back on the bed—the way he grasps his bandaged wound. His gaze impales hers—intense and observant.

“I’ve been awake longer than you’ve thought.”

“Has Anders known yet?”

“Is that the name of that friend of yours? No, he hasn’t.”

“So you’ve been pretending to be asleep for quite long. Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Does it matter? I prefer to assess the situation first. I also didn’t have the most pleasant experience with him last night.”

“Point taken.”

“My name is Fenris. I’m from Tevinter Imperium. Glad to make acquaintances even when it’s going to be brief, I suspect.”

”Tevinter Imperium? That’s where you’re from?”

”Yes. It is a violent place.”

Tevinter Imperium is a nation that has infamous reputation of being highly infested by organized crime. It is said that the high-ranking criminals there have politicians in their hands, making them puppets to serve their purposes. Besides that, trafficking, slavery are still commonly practiced that even the rules deem them illegal. Apparently, the law is nothing.

To think that Fenris’ wound is from a knife... she can only wander how he got it. However, it won’t be a surprise to her if it originates from such dealings. She yearns to know.

“Glad to make acquaintances as well. I’m Hawke, Lara Hawke.”

“Hawke, a fine name.”

They face the door when Anders has eventually returned, making Hawke wonder where he is from. Perhaps, he was simply taking some fresh air. He notices that Fenris has gained his consciousness and been speaking to Hawke when he was away. Fenris glares at him with his frown deepened. He is not liking any of this.

“You have finally wakened up, quicker than I expected. Are you feeling alright?” Asks Anders.

“Yes, I am.”

“He’s the one who cleaned and sewed your wound shut. He’s a doctor.” Adds Hawke.

“I’ve noticed,” he says.

Then, tense silence befalls before both Anders proceeds to check up upon Fenris with Hawke’s help.

“You need to eat first. I’ll make herbal soup for both of you.”

When all of them have eaten and cleaned, and Fenris has been taken care of, Anders asks Hawke for a private moment outside the room. Once they are outside, Anders’ arms rest on the railing while looking down on the parking lot. Hawke stands next to him and looks at the view before she directs her eyes on him which he catches, bringing him back to the present.

“You look restless. Is there something, Anders?”

“I didn’t have the soundest sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I think we can trade places next time.”

“It’s alright. I always have trouble sleeping regardless the mattress I lie on. And that’s not what I like to speak about.”

“I’ve been thinking about our plan. We were supposed to be at the Wounded Coast. What do you think should we do now?”

“I don’t think we have much to do except that we need to wait for Fenris to recover. I don’t think he’s in any condition to join us. Not to mention that this is not his will.”

“You’re suggesting that we have to stay here for a while?” he asks.

“There are no other options, isn’t it?”

She smiles at him apologetically.

His hazel eyes soften, sharing the smile even when it doesn’t come from the most genuine place of his heart.

* * *

Back in Kirkwall, a day later, Carver rises at noon after a night of whacking off his meat after such an exhausting work at a construction site. The soreness of his muscles has never left him ever since he signed up for the job, having no other choice. Waking up to see his own reflection in the mirror across the bed, self-hatred can’t help to deepen.

What a blighted mess he is, Maker’s breath. Never-endingly overworking himself, shifting between studying in the library and working. It causes a lack of sleep. The only luxury he can afford is the brothel, which puts him in further misery when he realizes he has spent money instead of saving it for college. He’s usually the least dependable one among Hawke siblings, so he thinks. With Hawke Maker knows where for some time, the financial burden of his remaining family is on his shoulders. And he has just wasted half a sovereign for a quick pleasure like his dead Uncle Gamlen.

To forget the shame he has committed, he quickly grabs his pants and wears his shirt to leave the place as soon as possible. Taking a bus to his apartment, when he has arrived, he sees a newspaper in front of his door and picks it up. As he opens the door, he is welcomed by bizarre emptiness. There’s no his sister who will usually invite him to eat instant Ramen noodle. Hating to admit it but he has missed her.

He plunges on the old, leather sofa that has its skin ripped. To fill in empty boredom, he decides to skip through the newspaper that he’s sure that it will bore him to death. The death of the city judge’s son makes the headline with a picture of his body being recovered by the police and medics.

Then, he spots the salon where his sister works in the background. He squints his eyes to fast read those letters to learn that the last place the judge’s son visited before his death is her workplace, The Pearl Salon.

He drops the newspaper on the sofa.

His eyebrows are furrowed with suspicion. Sweats that has streaming down his temple become rainier along with the summer temperature rising like flame. A murder? Does she know about this?

When he picks up the paper again, he sees that the causes of death are disclosed to the press by Inspector Cullen Rutherford—blunt injury on the head and a stab into his chest by a sharp weapon that is likely to be a scissor.

“Sister…”

His dear sister might have lied to him but he shakes his head, refusing to believe that.

A part of him wishes to bury it for a while to indulge in his freedom from his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally updated after such busy weeks of assignments! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy and like this chapter! Feel free to give kudos and comments as I always appreciate comments! I love you all!
> 
> (Plus, check out @writeskatelive !!! She has helped me with this chapter!!!)


	4. Breakable Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to the Wounded Coast is joined by a new person

The wounds on Fenris’ abdomen has started gradually closing themselves as three days have been spent to wait for the betterment of his condition in the motel. Anders would usually help him change his bandages as he was still prone to bleed. However, today, he makes an unexpected request.

“I’d prefer if she helps me change instead,” he says much to Anders’ annoyance. 

“You surely prefer to bleed for a beautiful woman to be close to you.”

“I’m not bleeding that much any longer.” he coldly retorts.

“And one particular doctor is annoying.”

Hawke sighs at the exchange. Being with men in the same room for days has its own perks. She wonders whether men are like this—there’s always an element of competition with each other everywhere, which she never understands. It does get tiring.

“Men, why don’t we just settle down who does your bandaging with rock, paper, and scissors? If you win, you’ll have me; if you lose, you’ll have an actual doctor. Sounds good?” she suggests.

“Rock-paper-scissor? Are you serious?” Anders replies.

“Do we have a choice if both of you can’t stop bickering?”

“Good point.” Fenris agrees.

Anders shoots him a look, visibly annoyed.

They follow her suggestion and throw their hands. Anders’s scissor is defeated by Fenris’s rock.

“Alright, so Fenris wins. Should I carry your bag for you?” she rises from her seat.

“No, I’ll carry it myself.” he refuses, insisting to limp toward his bag and carry it on a shoulder that can only add more pain to his torso.

She wonders why he is persistent in taking care of his own things when it’s merely for his clothes when his bag is as heavy as a boulder of rocks and what is within there that he seems to reveal to anyone. 

There’s a certain mystery about him. It might be because she has only known him for three days, but his Tevinter background and his answer to what led to him being stabbed are quite interesting.

“I came across thugs on my way. They desired my bag, hoping for things they could sell. They threatened me with their knives. It’s the only thing I have and protect no matter what, even when it meant getting violent.”

“I successfully outran them, but as a price, I was wounded. If it weren’t for you, I might have been dead. Fortune was by my side when you almost crashed me.”

Hawke admitted that she found the story to be dull, but she was glad that the situation was not worse. Although, she sensed a lack of truth.

Inside the bathroom, Fenris places his bag on the floor and pulls up his shirt for her to tentatively strip the bandages off his stitched, crimson wounds, hoping that none of them would open up again. He stifles his gasps to the sticky, slightly painful, and burning sensation on his skin, while his green eyes pierce at her face.

The conscious feeling of his gaze on her sends her to shudder, scared to mess up. She understands why he prefers her to do his bandaging because Anders can’t truly be quiet when Fenris seeks for a moment of silence. But they have been trying to shoot each other with words for a reason she doesn’t quite understand even outside that, much to her frustration. She averts her gaze elsewhere, avoiding his intense eyes.

Her eyes land on the white tattoos on his torso she has been curious about.

Trying to distract herself from nervousness, she decides to speak.

“You have tattoos all over your body,” she says.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“How could you get—”

“The story associated with them is not pleasant.” His response is sharp, meant to shut down the conversation.

“I’m sorry.”

“I would tell you if I have trusted you enough, and that remains to be seen.”

They become silent again.

The air doesn’t become any lighter when her gaze ends up darting on his abdomen when she is half-way through releasing the bandage. She tries to not stare by casting her gaze somewhere else, but only to be captured by his chest. His body is lean and defined. An alarming impulse yearns to touch him with her fingers. The thoughts send heated, crimson blush rushing to her cheeks.

To suppress herself, she holds her breath, bites her lip, and blinks her eyes. She is telling herself to stay focused on finishing the job. She doesn’t want him to wonder why it takes long.

Noticing where she is gazing at, he tries to contain his smirk. He brushes two digits of his fingers on near her elbow while his eyes remain on her face that is framed by her dark hair.

“It’s done,” she says, getting her hands off him now.

“I’ll leave you to shower now. Call me when you need bandaging.”

“You did a better job than he did,” he comments.

“Thank you.” she replies bashfully before she exits and shuts the door behind her.

“How was it?” asks Anders.

“It went… well. We didn’t talk much, but we did.” she answers.

“Did he have that pissed look on his face when you tried to talk to him?” he asks.

“I didn’t look.”

“You have no idea how pissed he was every time I did his bandages. He was a lucky bastard to have won the rock-paper-scissors.”

“Hawke told me you’re from Tevinter. Tell me about the mobsters and their activities there.”

Fenris glared at him.

“Oh, perhaps, you're involved with them that might have actually led to… this?” he said, referring to his wounds.

“I suggest that your silence will be more life-saving than your curiosity and your stare.”

“Are you asking me to be blind while I’m the one who’s fixing your bandage?”

“You’ve been staring at the markings on my skin. Some people—too curious about thugs and gangsters—are particularly nosy about them.”

“Maybe, both of you should stop acting like children. Save me from some headache,” replies Hawke.

* * *

  
After Fenris’ bandage has been fixed, their plan for the rest of the day is to be around the motel. They have been in boredom while waiting for approximately one to two more days for Fenris to be well enough that Hawke and Anders can continue their journey to the Wounded Coast.

Most of their time, Hawke likes to spend it on reading a book she bought yesterday from a nearby store in the room with a fan on to cool off the summer heat, so does Anders. Occasionally, he will go out and buy some snacks and boxed meals. Fenris is mostly resting on his bed, while occasionally listening to his headphone and shutting out the world around him. 

Fenris takes off his headphones.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What was your plan before you came across me?”

Both Anders and Hawke take notice of his question.

“We were heading to the Wounded Coast for a trip. It’s still in our plan. How could you know?” replies Hawke, taking off her mind from her book.

“I did overhear a little of your conversation. And this town doesn’t have any spectacle for both of you to stay in a motel for long if it isn’t for my condition. I apologize for that.”

Anders scowls, not liking that Fenris has eavesdropped his private talk with Hawke.

“No need, Fenris. We’re not going to let a person die from their wounds.” 

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, turning his head to her.

There is sharpness in his question.

“Then, we shouldn’t have saved you.” jabs Anders, irritated.

“I apologize I came off being ungrateful. As I’ve said, I owe both of you my life and wish to return the favor.”

An ugly pause. Hawke can’t find an appropriate response because the reason why she’s here is that she left a man to die. She shifts uncomfortably on the bed, thinking if she has called for an ambulance instead, her situation would have been different and better.

_Ferelden bitch._

Remembering how Kirkwall local men often throw out derogatory words at her every time she stands up to them, she would have had no chance and been returned to Ferelden and in prison regardless of what she did. It is a punch to the gut. She frowns, furrowing her eyebrows.

Fenris appears to be distant and lost for brief seconds when he says;

“I know a few men who deserve to be left to die.”

Silence.

“Fenris, what do you plan after you have recovered?” asks Hawke, trying to make the conversation less awkward.

“I’ll probably return to the streets, fending off for myself without any clear destination to go.”

“Perhaps, you can join us,” she suggests.

“But Hawke, are you sure it is wise to bring him along? We have no idea whether we can trust him.” protests Anders.

“I was not supposed to be part of your plan as well, weren’t I? We met each other in the middle of the street. You told me that you would help anyone who doesn’t have any shelter in Darktown. Can’t you offer him the same?”

“I… can’t argue against that.”

“I’ll consider it, but I prefer to not be a burden,” says Fenris.

“You have today to think. If you agree, we can continue our journey tomorrow,” says Hawke.

Anders's face is sullen, hoping that Fenris refuses.

* * *

  
Tomorrow morning, both Anders and Hawke head to the car for the Wounded Coast after checking out from the motel, joined by Fenris who eventually accepted the offer.

“How worse could it be if I join?” remarked Fenris last night, which still rings in Hawke’s head.

_Yes, how worse could it be for a runaway murderer?_

She casts a glance at Fenris who wears a long-sleeved hoodie against the summer temperature, which is apparently to cover the markings on his skin. Ever since Fenris was with them, she has been reminded of her own actions due to his remarks that strike the right chords. She is aware he doesn’t intend to do so, but oftentimes; it feels like he is trying to claw her secrets out.

Perhaps, Anders had a point that she shouldn’t have offered him to follow them, but there is no way she wouldn’t offer a hand to a man on recovery who has no home and a place to go. 

The trio places their drinks, snacks, and bags on the passengers’ seats next to Fenris, while she seats herself next to Anders who is in charge of driving, helping him to navigate on the road.

It consumes three hours until they arrive at the coast. Looking through the car windows, Hawke has started noticing the beach with strong ocean waves. She has never been out of the stuffy Kirkwall ever since the destruction of Ferelden. It feels fresh and free, creating a rush of excitement in her veins. She has never felt this happy. She half-opens the window to enjoy the salty breeze, brushing her skin and sweeping her hair, while she extends out her arm to block the sun in the midst of clear, blue sky and smiles.

When the car meets a red light, Anders watches her and smiles. He marvels at how bright she is when she looks happy because he has seen her blue most of the time he spends with her.

“Enjoying the sun? The air?” he asks.

Hawke turns to him.

“Yes, I am.” she chuckles.

He draws closer toward her. 

“There are many things I like to show you when we’ve arrived, and they’re…” he loses his trail of words when Hawke pecks his scruffy cheek, making him blush.

“Thank you for saving me back in Kirkwall, Anders,” she says, looking into his honey eyes with a smile.

“All for a beautiful woman like you. Can you kiss my cheek again, or perhaps, my lips?” he asks with a grin on his face.

She nudges his arm playfully.

“No.” she giggles.

Then, her eyes catch Fenris. He has been quiet, seemingly lost in the view or his thoughts. As she doesn’t want to bother him, she can only hope that he indulges it as much as she and Anders do.

Soon enough, they have eventually reached the Wounded Coast—a rather tragic name for a fun spot, passing the streets. The sidewalks are crowded by people who are mostly tourists. There are many restaurants, venues, hotels, and shops to choose from. Hawke is enthusiastic to experience them, forgetting burdening thoughts of her crime for a while.

“We’re going to park somewhere soon. Then, we’ll decide where we will have our lunch,” says Anders. 

Once they have found a parking spot, the trio exits the car and strolls to find a good restaurant for their lunch. Eventually, they pick a place that is well-known for its tropical smoothies.

Inside, the place is quite dim that it resembles a venue. The walls are plastered with shining, neon, coconut trees and framed, rating certificates. There is a bar counter where the racks are filled with bottles of alcoholic beverages. The waiter leads them to an empty table and hands out menus. It doesn’t take them long to order their meals. Once he has left, Hawke rises from the seat.

“I’ve been sweating like hell here, so I’m changing in the restroom. Hope the meals are here when I’m back.”

She grabs her newly-bought, yellow dress from her bag and dashes to the restroom to bump into a rather familiar person.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters.

“Hawke? Is that you?”

Her heart stops when she realizes who it is.

It is Isabela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do while writing it. It's so fun!!! 💖💜💙


	5. Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela reveals the reason why she is out of Kirkwall, while Anders is struggling with his past

There is a weird freeze in time when Hawke processes the presence of Isabela, her employer, and friend—sort of. The coincidence strikes her in the most surreal fashion. Encountering her here is what she expects the least.

“I thought my brain was fooling me for a second. I didn’t expect to see you here! How have you been?” greets Isabela as glee lightens up her face. Her arms are open to give a quick, friendly hug, which Hawke welcomes.

“I’ve been… well?” Hawke replies, hesitant.

“Don’t tell me you’re in trouble as much as I am.” jokes Isabela.

Hawke’s eyes dart to her body. She is wearing a white, crop top that hugs her curvy line lovingly and a colorful, tropical skirt, which has a slit that exposes her big, muscular thigh. A blue bandana always decorates her head. Even back in Kirkwall, she has always looked flawless for the beach.

“How have you been as well, Isabela?” asks Hawke.

“Eh, I’ve been better if that’s what you’re asking. This place is definitely better than that dump.”

“What brought you here?” asks Isabela.

“It’s a long story. I just arrived here with my friends.”

“Your friends?” Isabela turns her head and eyes at the table where Anders and Fenris are seated at. Only Fenris notices her glance, while Anders is occupied by his phone. Accompanied by a smirk, she raises her eyebrows in fascination.

“This seems quite spicy and perhaps, scandalous.” she remarks.

“It’s not like that.” denies Hawke.

“Well, I would love to be introduced to them right now if I hadn’t had a business to take care of.”

“Anyway, catch up with you later. If you’re interested, I’m staying in The Moon Bay Hotel. Maybe, I can help you and your friends reserve you a place. I’ll message you the address.”

She taps Hawke’s shoulder and winks at her before she leaves with both Fenris and Anders watching.

Will Isabela’s presence bring her more problems?

* * *

After lunch, Hawke and both men meet Isabela again in the hotel where they will stay in. The building doesn’t consist of many floors. It is facing a fresh, small beach that according to Isabela, they can indulge the beautiful view of sun setting down below the horizon.

When they have climbed upstairs to the third floor, they search for their room, which is located at the corner. They unlock the door and enter to see two twin-sized beds and an additional bed. They settle down their things—Fenris immediately chooses the third bed to place his bag on before he heads toward the balcony by himself.

“Thank you so much, Isabela. You’re a savior.” thanks Hawke.

“I almost had the idea to request a king-sized bed instead if that’s what you prefer. Oh, three of you would have to sleep together.” jokes Isabela, followed by a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” jokes Anders, approaching both ladies.

Hawke struggles to hold back the blush on her face.

“Anders, you really have no idea how to be subtle. How cute.” comments Isabela.

Fenris grimaces, but he stays silent. His eyes remain on the crashing waves. Then, he directs his sight at the people who are staying, walking, running, and playing on the sand. Their chatters and cheers can be heard. All of them look loose in their enjoyment of the shore and the day sun. Yearning flashes in his green eyes.

“Anyway, to return the favor, you’re going to buy me some drinks. I’ll message you the bar we’ll visit. Be there at 8.” says Isabela before she heads out to her own room below theirs.

When the door has closed, Anders speaks.

“So, she’s your employer back in Kirkwall.”

“Yea, she is. She hired me to work in her salon, or I would have been jobless.”

“She actually seems familiar, but I can’t put why for now. I feel I’ve met her before.”

“You’ve met each other before?”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter really. She hasn’t brought it up yet if my feeling is correct.”

“I see.”

“Are you going to like it here?” she asks.

“This is what we have always planned. I can’t wait to have a good time after such a delay… especially, with you...” Anders stammers and blushes slightly, drawing closer. He craves for physical contact, her touch,

However, he decides not to when he has stood close. A sudden, gutting guilt.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“It’s just… things seem a little too good.” he answers, avoiding her eyes as he walks around the room.

Fenris who has been silent listening to them can’t be surer that both of them are hiding something like he is.

* * *

Dressed in a crop top and denim shorts, purple, blue neon lights are cast on Hawke’s visage as she enters the club. The music is blaring loud that the beats hammer her chest. On the stage where the poles stand on, half-naked women are dancing, while male customers are ogling at them with dirty looks.

Discomfort crawls under Hawke’s skin, scared that she might be mistaken as one of those dancers by such men. She eyes for Isabela who has been waiting for her at one of the tables in the bar area.

Isabela raises her arm to signal Hawke to come to her when she has seen Hawke. Noticing her hand, Hawke approaches her and seats herself.

“I’ve been waiting for you for ten minutes. Worried that you’ve turned into tits and arse to the men in this place. Some have been leering at me, thinking I’m one of the strippers.”

“Anyway, the drinks on you tonight,” adds Isabela.

“Why a strip club, Isabela?” asks Hawke.

“Because I need to observe how this place can serve my plan.” answers Isabela.

“Your plan?”

“I’ll tell you what. We can play a hundred questions once we’ve ordered our drinks.”

During the moment of silence between them, Isabela seems to be eyeing the crowded entrance, which is noted by Hawke.

When the waitress has arrived at their table, the ladies order their beverages. Isabela orders for a bottle of whiskey, while Hawke prefers a glass of tropical cocktail. Hawke has planned to not walk to the hotel drunk and vulnerable.

Once they are alone, Isabela begins the question;

“What actually brought you here, Hawke? You were supposed to fill in my absence.”

“I… Isabela, would you accept it if I told you the truth?”

“Well, I’d rather hear the truth than a lie.”

“I… murdered a man in your salon,” answers Hawke, her eyes leveled on the table’s surface.

A pause.

“It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean that to happen. It was self-defense.” Her voice is shaking and rising in panic.

“Hawke, I’ll never report you. I’ve done my share of bad shit myself. Who was the person?”

Hawke gulps, nervous.

“Christian.”

“Oh my, I’ve always wanted to kill him myself. Never thought he would have actually ended up exactly how I wanted. Can’t blame you for that. He deserved what came to him.”

Their drinks arrive on their table that they have to pause talking. The moment is used by Isabela to glance at the main door until the waitress is gone for good.

“You’re not… mad?”

“You did the right thing. My salon is not going to last long anyway. Well, this has surely sealed it for me that the place is completely gone.”

Hawke furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“The reason why I’m here is because… I’m running from loan sharks.”

Hawke is stunned.

“Isabela…”

“This situation is a nightmare. I’m actually glad that you’ve escaped Kirkwall. Can’t imagine if they’re after you instead. I shouldn’t have left you in the dark, but I didn’t want to involve you.”

“The salon, you opened it by dealing with them.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m fucked. We’re both fucked. Your action is at least defendable. Mine is not. I made a bad deal, and it’s biting me in the arse now.”

She pours her liquor full and swallows the liquid until the glass is empty and put down.

“Balls.” curses Isabela, shaking her head.

“What are you planning to do now?” asks Hawke.

“Well, I’m planning to get away no matter what it will take."

Isabela turns around and watches a group of men in suits conversing in the VIP section with a dancer entertaining them for some seconds. She focuses on her friend again.

“So, what did you do after you killed that poor bastard?”

“I… cleaned up as usual except that I had to deal with his blood and corpse. I erased camera evidence of that night in case the cops could trace. I placed his body inside a huge trash bag. He was heavy, but I could lift him to his car as I found his key in his pocket. Then, I drove his car, ditched him to the ocean. After I was finished with him, I parked his car in the parking building, quite far from the salon. The key, was in the garbage because I saw no need of it anymore.”

Somewhere in her heart, Hawke is smiling, impressed by herself to be able to manage those actions under pressure.

“Then, I ran. I ran on the streets like a panicked woman.”

“That was how I encountered Anders. He almost crashed me with his car.”

“He must’ve fallen in love with you in the first sight that he agreed to take you with him. Look at her, poor woman, needs to be saved. Oh, he’s helpless.”

“What about Fenris? How did you guys meet him?”

“The next day, Anders and I almost his Fenris with Anders’s car. He suddenly appeared in front of us, running from something. Then, I noticed that he was bleeding out from a stab wound. We had no choice but to save him.”

“Aw, poor him. He’s quite handsome, you know? Anyway, seems you’ve been having an exciting adventure unlike me here.”

“I won’t call it fun.”

“I know.”

“My turn to ask. Why have you been watching those men?” questions Hawke, referring to the men who Isabela has been eyeing.

Isabela studies Hawke’s expression who looks engaged.

“Very well. I’ll tell you what.”

“I’m planning to scam them for money.”

* * *

When Hawke has returned after carrying a drunken Isabela to her room, she sees that Anders is nowhere in the room. Only Fenris can be found on his bed. The late-night news is on.

“Where is Anders?” she asks.

“He went out to a bar by himself.” he answers, disinterested.

“Did he tell you when he would return?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll just clean up myself and go to bed. I hope he’ll be alright.”

She tosses her bag to the bed first for her eyes to be captured by the TV screen and freezes—a blond cop is speaking to the press about the murder of Christian.

“The murder of Christian who was a lovely, young man is cruel and unforgivable. The police have promised that we will work hard to put the culprit behind the bars to serve justice.”

_Fuck._

That’s when the rage is filling her brain. Justice? For a lovely, young man who assaulted her before his death by her hands? Her core is tightened, while her fists are shaking in fury.

Regardless of the rocks life will throw at her, her determination to walk away free is hardened. The guilt from defending herself from a predatory man shall end here.

* * *

In the bar, Anders has been drinking in desperation, while hoping to find someone he can hook up with. He has been telling himself all night that he is simply touch-starved—his feelings for Hawke are nothing more than that. He can’t afford to fall for her. He can’t, or else, he will drag her into his mess.

A month ago, a teenage patient of his came to visit his clinic and begged him to smuggle her out. She was on her knees at the edge of tears when Anders was initially hesitant.

“Please, I’m begging you. I need to get out of the town. The cops have been pressing false charges against me.”

“This has been happening to refugees. You said you care about them the most.”

“All the cops do is to make innocent people criminals, while dangerous people are getting away from shit. They’re cowards. I don’t want to be arrested by these pigs!”

“Anders, I’m begging…”

His cell phone buzzed, so he shushed her to pick it up.

The call was from Karl who was kept in a mental institution a few years ago. The two men had known each other since college. Karl was his postgraduate senior when Anders had newly begun his study. Since he was institutionalized, they had been contacting each other once a month, promising each other that the two would reunite again.

“Karl.”

“Anders, great news. The doctor just told me that I would be released soon.”

“Are you serious?” replied Anders in both disbelief and rush of excitement.

His lover was to be freed. They would be together again like the old times. A wide smile cracked up his face. He couldn’t hold back happiness that he had been deprived of for years that tears started flowing from his honey eyes.

Little did he know that this would lead to a devastating mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that the update takes long because I lost motivation for a while. I thank my trip to Bali for gaining inspiration. Hope you enjoy this chapter!


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